Scones are better when they’re good.

So, we’re on the voyage home.

I take music like it’s granulated and piled on my overgrown pinky nail, so of course I’m listening to some more Twin Shadow. I’d tell you to deal with it, but hell, I’m the one with the headphones plugged into my ears.

So, speaking of the transportation of Nantucket-

There’s two different ferries that can take you to and from the island. You have the ‘Slow Ferry’ and (you guessed it), the ‘Fast Ferry’. Of course, this excludes the private yachts and carriers with champagne fueling the engines- but for the rest of the human race able to sport champagne fueling their galbladders and vernaculars- the Slow and Fast Ferry do just fine.

The slow ferry takes about two hours because it’s able to handle heavier cargo like cars and leaded egos.

The ‘Fast’ Ferry- cuts that time in half. The only kind of transport they’ll take is a bike. Then you’re faced with a panicked decision in either choosing the bottom or top deck. This is pivotal, as both decks offer limited tables for riders to settle their Macbook Pros and write blogs about riding ferries.

We claim a table on the top deck. So as we speed across the Nantucket Sound towards Hyannis, I sit here writing after munching on a Sconset Scone. Alliteration Alligator.

I’m realizing that this blog is as much about food as it is about me jacking away and relishing in experiences. I think at some point, I’ll include recipes and of course there will be reviews of more restaurants, but I really wanna play with the idea that food is a marker. I mean, looking back on past experiences, it’s one thing trying to relate yourself to an electron cloud of visual projections. But remembering a taste, remembering the consistency of something- that muscle (nearly quintessential) memory of the food you’ve had in a situation- that’s gotta be a harder-hitting than any cognitive film reel. Food is a marker of shit that goes down at any given time, no matter how good or bad or burnt or fattening or spicy or overpriced it is. I’m realizing that more and more. That so many of these experiences I’ve been having lately, especially on the verge of my senior year in School, have been revolving around food and wine and beer, if only because it’s the only alternative to screaming I know.

For now, this sconset scone is by far the most incredible scone I’ve ever had. Unlike other scones I’ve had- this one is actually… good. The crust is still moist and lightly sprinkled with salt. The meat of the pastry is surprisingly soft and tastes like condensed, crumb-free yellow-cake. Clouds of cinnamon and nutmeg gravitate around cranberries.

I sit on this ferry eating the hell out of it, thinking of all the sugar I’ve taken in this vacation.

Last night I had my fourth scoop of Almond Joy ice cream from the Sconset Market with Bethany.

I had another cupcake from Petticoat Row Bakery after they retweeted me and thanked me for making them proud.

Blueberry muffins in the morning after birds squawked away at 6 A.M.

There was that hidden candy shop in the back of the Surf Shop that run by a couple of kids… bought Peanut M&M’s like they were going out of style.

All the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on the beach.

Cherries. Iced tea.

Chewy Bars from when I finished my ten-minute play jus before a couple of seals looked at me from twenty feet in the water.

And now this scone on the ferry to a civilization waiting to eat me alive and remind me of the year ahead. Tomorrow, I’m going to my favorite deli of all time- it’s called Se-Port Deli near Stonybrook. And I will go… all out.

Until tonight, happy doing whatever you’re doing while stuffing your face.



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